n
Rangeley Village. Every hour seemed precious to them now, and the
fingers on Betty's right hand--the number of days that were left--were
all too few. Even Jimmie, who cared less for the country than Betty did,
was sorry. And the children were sorry to have them go. All through the
cold, white winter in Rangeley Village they were expecting the Reece
children and the old guide. With their coming, good times began again.

And this morning, on which they were leaving camp, they felt rather
blue, for, although they expected to come back the next summer, as
indeed they did, yet it seemed such a long, long time to wait! They
followed Ben Gile single file down the mountain at a good pace, but
without saying very much. By noon they had reached the Dead River Ponds,
and were ready for luncheon.

"I think some of that birch, Tom," said Ben Gile, "would make a good
fire for us."

[Illustration:
_A._ Feeding the baby wasps.
_B._ A grown-up wasp.]

Tom, who was a famous woodchopper in winter, went off toward the tree,
followed by lazy little Peter, who loved to see others work. Soon the
chips were flying right and left. Suddenly there was a yell from Peter.
Tom dropped his axe. Ben Gile hurried over to the boy, and the others
crowded around. Tom was sure a splinter had gone into Peter's eye. The
lad was holding on to his eye, and jumping up and down with pain. But as
Ben Gile was trying to make the boy take his hand away, Tom exclaimed,
grabbed one hand with the other, and made for the pond. "It's hornets,
Ben!" he called; and before the others could say anything he had clapped
some mud on his own hand and brought mud for Peter's eye, which he
poulticed with this useful material, and tied around it a big white
handkerchief. Although Peter did not in the least like the bite, yet he
felt rather proud of the bandage, and for the first time in his life he,
too, wanted to know about the creatures who could give so much pain.

"Tell us, sir," the children cried, "about the wasps while dinner is
cooking."

So Ben Gile, who had left the cooking to the other guides, gathered the
children and Mrs. Reece about him, and began: "One day last fall I saw,
high up in a tree near the pond, the pretty, gray nest of Mrs.
Vespa-Wasp. It did not look like a real house, with windows in it and
steps leading up to it. But there it hung, swinging in the bare
branches, its walls of pretty, soft gray blending so beautifully with
the pale-blue sky.